


wish you'd let me stay (I'm ready now)

by fillorianravenclaw



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Falling In Love, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry, Ron's done with everyone's bullshit, Second War with Voldemort (again), Slow Burn, So's Hermione tbh, Time Travel Fix-It, Yeah that's right Dumbledore just magicked them into the past he can do that now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2020-12-22 20:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21082598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fillorianravenclaw/pseuds/fillorianravenclaw
Summary: In which Harry is sent back to the past with a fierce determination not to make the same mistakes as last time.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> haha, me? starting another multi chapter fic? when I haven't finished the hundred others I've started? more likely than you think
> 
> In case it isn't clear (which it probably isn't) the prologue's set at King's Cross station after Harry's been 'killed' by Voldemort.

"I can't go back, I can't." Harry's voice sounded pleading even to his own ears.

The old wizard before him sighed, a sad, exhausted sigh, drawing a frail hand down his beard. "It won't be enough."

It was a simple statement, but it exposed the awful truth - the one that Harry had been so willing to get away from. And now here it was, laid bare before him as he stood vulnerable in an unknown place that hardly resembled King's Cross station.

"Listen- Sir- it's-" Harry struggled, searching for words that would tell it how it was and not as a lie, not that Dumbledore would ever need them though. "After everything, if I did... If I did go back and I managed to- to kill Voldemort what would I have? What would be left for me? I've ki-"

He stopped himself.

"I've made so many mistakes." It was a whisper that was lost to the blank, mindless surroundings. Dumbledore heard.

"Many people did. _M__any_ worse than yours."

Harry nodded solemnly, eyes fixed intently on the ground, a lump in his throat. "I know. I know..."

"But you can fix them, and so can they."

The old wizard's tone was serious, but if Harry knew anything about Dumbledore, it was that hundreds of different emotions could be concealed under that voice. He jerked his head up, meeting twinkling, blue eyes. "I can? Sir, that's not- I can't-"

But his rambling was cut short by a squeezing, wrenching sensation - something similar to apparition, but with an added sense of being pulled _backwards._ As if someone had grabbed him round the middle and pulled his feet out from beneath him. A buzzing sound filled his ears, growing and growing and growing and growing and-

Nothing.

And then-

Grass. Hands. Voices. Screams. A body beneath him.

"Harry! _Harry!"_


	2. the other side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is just as appreciated as kudos so if you could spare the time to drop some down below that'd be awesome !!  
Hopefully (no promises) updates will be quicker from now on :)

Cedric. It was Cedric. The body beneath him - the _dead_ body beneath him was Cedric Diggory’s. A boy who had been _dead three years_.

That couldn’t be right. Harry snapped his eyes open, meeting the same blue ones he’d been staring desperately into just seconds before. He scrambled upright, distantly registering that his hand was still grasped in Cedric’s shirt, and took in his surroundings. The packed stands, the wild cheering mixed with uncertain shouts, the house colours. It was the triwizard tournament.

_But you can fix them, and so can they._

He’d been sent back in time - there was no other answer for it, unless he was having some kind of strange fever dream - and now he was stranded three years in the past and everything he’d done - every horcrux he had found - was meaningless. Just how Dumbledore had managed to pull that off-

A firm shake brought him painfully back to the present, eyes locked on Dumbledore’s, hand clutching Cedric, the triwizard cup fallen forgotten on the ground.

“Voldemort’s back,” Harry blurted out bluntly, knowing the statement lacked the real empathy that should come with it, but trying to fit the role of fourth year Harry.. “He murdered Cedric.”

There was a momentary crack in Dumbledore’s mask, just a second of confusion and fear, before it smoothed over again. A swift, knowing nod was all he was given before Fudge arrived in a bluster of robes and idiocy.

“What’s going on? What happened?”

Harry stood. He tried to ignore the aching pain that’d set itself deep in his chest at the thought of Cedric dead - again. He let the body fall. He stood. When he met Fudge’s eyes, it was with a determination so fierce it felt like it was burning him up from the inside, a determination not to make the same mistakes as before.

“Voldemort’s back.” He repeated, louder this time, with more conviction and emotion. The screams and shouts gradually began to fade, the audience intent on hearing his words. “Voldemort’s back. He’s back, and he murdered Cedric Diggory!”

There was a horrifying sob from somewhere in the crowd, that reaped pain and sadness and all the emotions that Harry was all too familiar with - he distantly recognised that it must be Amos. It was with grim satisfaction that he watched as Fudge paled, shrank in on himself and backed away ever so slightly. A hand gripped his arm.

“Harry,” Dumbledore addressed him quietly. He could see through that tone now, after years of knowing the man, he could tell that while what he said may seem reassuring, underneath it was just thick condescension. Harry searched his eyes desperately for any sign that he had brought himself back too and he remembered, but all he saw was the man he’d known three years ago. Dumbledore may be powerful but he could not bring himself back from the dead.

“Moody’s not who you think he is,” Harry cut in, his voice a harsh whisper. “He’s been taking polyjuice. He’s Bartemius Crouch junior and he’s got Mad-Eye in a trunk in his classroom. The cup was a portkey.”

For a moment Dumbledore looked completely blindsided and Harry knew if he were in any other situation he’d be cracking up over it, but he wasn’t. “Right.” The old man said with a mildly confused nod. “I see.”

Though he hadn’t expected it to be that easy, Harry felt a slight thrill as he watched _Dumbledore_ answering to _him_. He felt, for once, that he was in control.

“Potter!”

Harry froze. That voice was incredibly familiar and foreign at the same time; it was an odd combination. And yet, when he felt the rough hand grip his shoulder, he reacted almost on instinct, spinning round reflexively, the words of a spell tumbling from his lips.

“_Incarcerous!_”

He tensed in anticipation, wand poised in front of him with a counter curse for whatever Moody - or rather Bartemius - threw at him. Only to find it wasn’t needed. He had taken the other wizard so much by surprise that he hadn’t even had the time to attack back.

There was a scream somewhere in the crowd.

“He’s mad!” Someone shouted.

“Voldemort must’ve possessed him!”

The shouts only succeeded in spurring on the chaos; students fled, screamed and shouted, confusion mingling with fear and producing a wild panic.

“Silence!”

The crowd fell silent at Dumbledore’s bellow.

“You will all return to your common rooms until your head of house tells you otherwise. Students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will return to their chambers. Off you go.”

As the students filed out of the stands in a subdued manner, Harry turned to the Headmaster, sparing a quick glance at Mad-eye’s struggling figure beside him.

“Sir,” He began, eyes flickering down to Cedric’s body.

“That means you too, Harry.” Dumbledore cut in, eyeing Harry in what seemed to be a mixture of concern and confusion. “I’ll talk to you later about what happened in the maze, but right now you need to leave this to me.”

“No.” He said firmly, trying not to raise his voice and let his anger get the better of him. “No, Voldemort just came back from the dead and murdered Cedric Diggory right in front of me, and you just expect me to go back to my common room and pretend nothing happened?”

Dumbledore surveyed Harry with pity. “That is correct. You’ve seen enough for today, Harry, I’ll talk with you later.”

Dumbledore turned his back and began talking to Fudge. Harry’s younger self probably would have taken this as a dismissal, but instead he clenched his fists in anger and ground his teeth together.

“No! You need to listen to me,” He spoke harshly, trying to channel a tone of commanding authority, trying to erase the image they had of him as an innocent fourteen year old boy. “_I_ saw what happened in the maze. _I_ was there. You can’t pretend you know anything about what to do next - because you _weren’t_. Don’t you see what this means? Voldemort’s back, so that means that you - we - step up. We need to do something, take action, or it’s going to get a whole lot worse than just one boy dying in a tournament.”

There was a long pause that made Harry feel slightly uncomfortable. Dumbledore had a small smirk on his face which made up for Fudge’s bewildered expression, but neither of them spoke. He was about to continue, because it didn’t seem like anybody was going to be saying anything anytime soon, when he felt a strong grip latch onto his arm.

“Harry!” It was Hermione. Because of course it was Hermione.

“Bloody hell, Harry, are you ok?” Ron appeared beside her and Harry felt himself being pulled into a tight embrace by both of them.

When he pulled back, her eyes were doing that big, concerned doe-eye thing that she always did and Ron had his typical scrunched up-eyebrows frown on. Harry felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the two people standing in front of him whom he’d never thought he’d see again.

“I’m fine.” He brushed off their worries and stepped back, trying to quell the feeling that his world was on a tilting axis and he was scrabbling to stay up right. He tried to take several shaky breaths. “I’m ok, I just-”

He turned back to Dumbledore and Fudge only to find that they’d moved away from him and were talking in hushed tones, heads bent together slightly. Desperation and anger coursed through him. “STOP IGNORING ME!” He roared, words bitter-tasting and ugly as they left his mouth. “I’m not a child! You can’t just pretend I wasn’t there, I saw it! I’ve seen- I’ve seen so much and all you do is turn your backs and hide your eyes! I’m not a child!” He repeated, but when his voice cracked around the words all pretences of control and authority came crumbling down with them. He couldn’t lose the little control he had left in front of the headmaster and the minister of magic, not now, not when there was so much he needed to do, not when the whole world was quite literally depending on him to make it right.

“Harry…” Hermione butted in, a hand snatching too tightly around his arm, trying to drag him away from his anger.

“No,” he managed weakly, his legs feeling fragile and delicate beneath him like they couldn’t hold his weight any longer. “I _need_ to…”

But he trailed off as dark spots worked their way into his vision and exhaustion took over, his legs giving way beneath him, dropping him carelessly like a rag doll to the floor.

______________

“Are you kidding? He was just attacked by Voldemort, Hermione! He’s not _going_ to be acting like himself!”

Harry had forgotten how it felt to wake in the gryffindor dormitories to the sound of his best mate yelling passionately about something right by his head. It was not an experience he’d missed.

“Obviously I’ve considered that, Ron, but there’s just something about the way he was _talking_, you’ve got to understand what I’m saying.”

Ah. And there was the_ I know I’m right, you’re just too stupid to see it_ tone he’d missed so much. As much as he hated both of their annoying habits and faults, he really had missed them. He could still feel Hermione’s tears on his neck as she’d clung onto him before he left for the forest, could still feel Ron’s firm hand on his shoulder that’d felt like a life support until he’d let go. He’d missed them in such an overwhelming way that seeing them now, here in front of him as he blinked his eyes open wearily, felt like an emptiness in his chest; they weren’t _his_ Ron and Hermione, they were 14 year old Harry’s Ron and Hermione.

“How’re you feeling?” Ron asked in a somewhat cautious tone as Harry struggled to sit upright. The two of them - Harry wasn’t even going to ask how Hermione was in the boys dormitory - were perched either side of his bed. Hermione seemed to be doing her best to drill holes into the side of his head with her calculating stare.

“Fantastic, Ron.” He deadpanned. He reached for his glasses and shoved them onto his face, sending a raised eyebrow Hermione’s direction which only resulted in a quiet huff and a narrowing of her eyes.

“Well, I wouldn’t be surprised if you feel like shit, mate,” Ron muttered. “You’ve sorta been out of it for about a day.”

“A day?!” He yelped, struggling to sit up properly.

“Yes. You seemed quite exhausted.” Hermione offered, tone blank of anything that might give her away.

Probably the result of not having slept in… however many days and being caught in too many life-or-death situations. Not that that would be changing any time soon. He had so _much_ to do.

“I need to go.” Harry said, mostly to himself. He must’ve missed hundreds of opportunities already, so many things he could’ve fixed in the time he’d been _sleeping_. He stumbled out of bed and towards the door, ignoring his friends’ bewildered looks and pulled it open hastily only to fall flat on his face.

“Hermione!” Ron squawked.

Harry shoved himself upright, turning to look at Hermione who was now towering over him, wand outstretched. “What the hell?!”

“Yes. Precisely, ‘what the hell?!’” She mocked, her tone on the verge of hysterical. Harry tried to send Ron a look that said ‘please save me, your future wife has got me at wandpoint and I’ve done nothing wrong’ only for him to avert his eyes in practiced ignorance. Betrayal. “Tell me what’s going on, Harry.”

“Ehrm… other than the fact that you’ve practically got me pinned down on the floor and look like you want to rip my throat out?”

He received an angry growl for his efforts. “No, I’m talking about the fact that you’ve recently returned from the triwizard tournament, carrying a dead body, claiming that Voldemort has returned, and consequently screaming at the head teacher, passing out on the floor and then acting like nothing’s happened!” She shrieked.

In all honesty, being on the receiving end of one of Hermione’s hysterical arguments with a wand pointed in his face had always been a lot less funny than being a bystander. Harry’s eyes flickered to Ron who was snickering softly in the corner. He struggled to his feet wearily and steadied himself against the door.

“You probably won’t believe me if I try to tell you I just have unhealthy coping mechanisms would you?”

“No.”

“Well…”

“Harry, come on,” Ron stepped in, “Regrettably, as usual, Hermione’s right. Could you just tell us what happened in there?”

“No, look, not right now, ok? There are some things I really need to do.”

“I told you!” Hermione cried. “I told you, he’s taken polyjuice!”

“Polyjuice?!”

“Yes, Harry, it’s a very complicated potion that allows the drinker to transform into somebody else, but maybe you don’t know that if-”

“I know what polyjuice potion is, Hermione! Trust me, I haven’t taken any since second year when you turned into Millicent Bulstrode’s cat!”

Hermione flushed slightly and seemed somewhat mollified by Harry’s memory of this. “I really do need to go, alright? I promise I’ll tell you what happened in the maze later.”

“Alright Harry,” Hermione murmured. “You don’t want us to come with you?”

“No. I just need some time alone.”

He turned to go, head spiralling with what to do now, how to come up with some kind of plan, when Ron stopped him, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze.

“We’re glad you’re alright, Harry.”

_______

It was impossible, Harry decided, curled in an alcove in one of the deserted corridors of Hogwarts with about 10 sheets of parchment layed out in front of him.

Staring down at his illegible, frantic scribbles didn’t do anything to help the matter, only increased his sense of impending doom - which it most certainly was. The first time around, most of the horcruxes had ended up being destroyed purely by luck and Hermione’s quick thinking but he didn’t really have either of those this time. Harry knew there had to be some kind of rules about time travel, and surely telling his friends that he was from three years in the future would be breaking one of those, even if it might save the wizarding world from certain doom? Not only that but he was sure his luck had run out by now, he’d had so many near misses the last time that it couldn’t possibly go any better the second time around. Not to mention-

Fred. Sirius. Remus. Mad-eye. Dobby. Tonks. Dumbledore; _everyone_. He couldn’t even bring himself to be happy at the thought that they’d all get a second chance at life, after all, they couldn’t all survive it again. Surely if they did that would only mean Harry would lose people even closer and he didn’t think he’d be able to cope with that kind of loss all over again.

Approaching footsteps jolted him from his thoughts, sharp and crisp as if someone was in a hurry. Harry scrambled to make it look less like he was on the verge of a mental and emotional breakdown and more like he was sat peacefully in an alcove studying.

The footsteps turned the corner and a silhouette approached, stark against the flickering torch light. He knew that silhouette. It couldn’t be a good sign.

Next thing Harry knew, he was being dragged to his feet, shoved against a wall and had a wand pointed at his chest.

“What the hell, Malfoy?” He was a little tired of people pointing their wands at him today.

Apparently Malfoy didn’t hear him because he didn’t answer, hand shaking wear it had grasped Harry’s shirt and eyes searching his own wildly. He looked slightly deranged.

“I said, what the hell? What’s wrong with you?” Harry snapped, finally coming to his senses enough to realise he should push the other boy away. He watched, satisfied, as Malfoy stumbled back a few feet, only for him to launch back, eyes set hungrily on the scraps of parchment in the alcove behind Harry.

“Hey! That’s-”

But Malfoy had already snatched the parchment up, eyes desperately eating up every word, and was backing away from Harry as he read.

“What the fuck, Malfoy!” Harry snarled, launching himself at the other boy and grabbing the papers. “The hell is wrong with you?”

The question fell flat, however, when the only answering sound was a soft echo down the corridor and Malfoy’s ragged breathing. The blonde’s face had taken on a pained expression, similar to the one Harry had seen that day in sixth year. He couldn’t deal with a situation like that again.

“It’s true,” Malfoy muttered, his tone brimming with resignation and loss, and let out a shaky exhale. “I thought it was- I was certain I was dreaming.”

Harry stared at him, eyes searching the other boy’s face for a clue as to what he was babbling on about. The only answer he received was an expression carved from pain, etched with lines of sadness and regret and eyes that had seen far too much. _Far too much_.

This wasn’t the Malfoy that Harry had known in fourth year. It couldn’t be. Harry could remember strongly the eyes that had stared back at him when he was knelt in Malfoy Manor, could feel the weight that Malfoy’s eyes had held then, how they had resonated with exhaustion.

They were the same.

“Malfoy-”

“Don’t speak to me,” he snarled, posture mimicking a caged animal.

Harry watched carefully, waiting for the next words as the slytherin took several, calming breaths, dragged his shoulders back, tilted his head up and let the mask slip back on.

“I’m leaving.”


End file.
